


prologue

by IrisParry



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/pseuds/IrisParry
Summary: General Hux is not typically a morning person. Perhaps this is not a typical morning.For a tumblr prompt "Don't leave me."





	prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A quick thing I wrote for a prompt list, that got way longer than I expected, originally posted on [tumblr. ](http://irisparry.tumblr.com/post/165936750454/sparrow-via-twitter-asked-for-number-13-dont)

_Don’t leave me._ The General was typically cold by the morning, running like clockwork again after a night in chaos, but today he had woken up a hot mess. He clung to Kylo in the dark of his quarters, mouth sour but still too good to pass up, and everything he wanted to do kept them pressed close, their legs tangled, Hux’s fluttering heart beating against Kylo’s chest.

 _Don’t leave me._ Hux wasn’t thinking it as much as feeling it, drowning Kylo in it like his clumsy kisses. He barely knew it himself, Kylo wondered, his own thoughts blurred with pleasure, barely understood the desperation that was somehow more than their bodies, driving him though he could not have put words to it. Such a primal urge was delicious in Hux, usually seething tantalisingly below the surface. Kylo drew the covers up over them, over Hux’s back, spread his legs to let Hux settle closer on top of him, and it did feel like he would stay, like that, wrapped up in each other, cocooned in the warmth of Hux’s bed.

Kylo would not stay, and when Hux had worn himself out he wrapped himself in his robe, wreathed himself in smoke from his Levarran tobacco, stood by the viewport and looked out as if he could delay that truth a little longer by not watching. It had been some time, Kylo supposed as he dressed, and it was only natural that Hux might develop this kind of attachment. Kylo had learned much of him, how to satisfy him best, how to make him feel he was in control. Perhaps too much, if Hux’s emotional response would begin to interfere with his duties. Hux would usually be in his uniform by this hour of the morning and while he made a pretty picture, elegantly dishevelled against the stars outside, they both had other priorities.

As if to drive home the point, Kylo’s comm chirped. Hux stared on out of the viewport. 

“Report,” Kylo said, and as the officer spoke Hux turned, slowly, his brow creased, ash collecting at the tip of his cigarette.

They’d known the old man was on Jakku, but the reports of an unidentified fighter entering the system had to be confirmation. Kylo had known the Resistance would lead them to him. He had known, and as he looked up to meet Hux’s eyes he felt a rush of adrenaline. Soon they’d have it, the map; it was all falling into place. 

Hux's expression did not change, though, as Kylo ordered his shuttle readied and dismissed the officer. He stubbed out his cigarette and came to Kylo’s side, and he was - he could not be - 

_Don’t leave me._ Hux was afraid, filled with a dread that chilled Kylo as he raised his hand to Hux’s face. Hux leaned into him, another luxury he would not usually permit at a time like this, and it made no sense. It made little more as he skimmed Hux’s mind, making him wrinkle his nose and slap Kylo on the shoulder. 

“Stop that,” Hux said, his frown deepening. His fear was formless, no gruesome tableaux in his mind to be reasoned away from, and it was … disappointing. It almost hurt, though he should have expected it. He knew the weaknesses that came with attachment. Hux feared losing Kylo just on principle, could not let his knowledge of Kylo’s capabilities calm him. Could not trust.

Kylo brushed a strand of Hux’s hair from his face, a subtle reminder that he ought to be making himself presentable by now. They needed to move. He turned from Hux to take his helmet from the nightstand, and felt - something. A ripple in the Force. An echo of blaster fire, the light and the noise, and the helmet, no, another - 

It was gone as soon as it arrived. It happened, sometimes, before battles, as if he was suddenly dunked into the sensory experience, and this was a good sign. There would be a battle. There was something on Jakku worth fighting for.

Hux stood where he had left him, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. Kylo secured his helmet. He could indulge this no longer.

“General,” he said, and Hux looked up. “We have work to do.”

Hux scowled. “I’m well aware.”

"I hope your troops are ready, even if their General is not.” There was no edge to that, not like there used to be, but such comments often motivated Hux nonetheless.

Hux paused at the door of the ‘fresher, his back to Kylo, and he turned his head but not enough to meet his eyes. “Will you not take the Knights?”

"Not to round up one old man.”

"But you need a whole squad of my best troopers?”

Sending the squad, for a few hours at most, was nothing to Hux. This mission was top priority, the Supreme Leader had made it clear. Hux would have him take all of the Knights with him instead, as if he was not more than capable - Kylo took a deep breath. He would not lash out with his emotions this morning, just because Hux seemed to wish to do so, flailing them around like a drunken cantina brawler.

“You seem concerned.”

Hux snorted, and for a second Kylo thought he felt the vision again, of the battle, the smell of the plasma and of smoke.

"Of course not,” he said, turning around fully. “Just - “ _Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me_. “I’ll stay on the bridge. Report in when you can.”

Kylo nodded. The sooner Hux heard of their success, the sooner he would cease this foolishness.

 

*

Hux cursed himself as he undid his robe and hung it on the back of the ‘fresher door, cursed himself as he turned on the water and waited for it to warm. He would not be late to the bridge, but he would not be early either, and Hux liked to be early. Preferably by a different margin every day, to keep people on their toes. 

His maddening, inexplicable sense of dread did not wash off as easily as his exertions with Ren. There was no need for it. Wrestling a star chart from a tired old hippy could probably be accomplished by the Finalizer’s mess hall staff, better trained than the Resistance to a man, and yet he could not shake the feeling. 

He was probably projecting, he reasoned, rinsing his hair under the spray. It had been a bit intense with Ren this morning, and that was the best explanation for why he felt this unsteady, as if things were about to shift under his feet. Hux was typically not a morning person: once he had woken up with Ren’s sizeable erection pressed firmly into his lower back and been distracted by the prospect of an amusing disagreement between lieutenants he didn’t much care for during the morning meeting’s AOB’s. His libido was nocturnal, as a rule.

The nightmare couldn’t have helped, though it barely merited the word. Hux’s subconscious had conjured up some horrors in its time and a simple battle, one which his side seemed to be winning, did not rank. It was the feel of the thing, he remembered, towelling off and getting his shaving things ready. The same creeping dread, as if something momentous was going to happen, as if the next blaster bolt was sure to find him. Simulations had never felt that way, and he was sure Ren would have something to say about that. 

They’d won, Hux recalled as he dressed with one eye on the chrono, in the dream, but there had been casualties. Maybe that was the difference. Those just weren’t the same in the sims of Hux’s day. Virtual gore had come along in leaps and bounds in recent years, excellent for desensitisation in the early days of training. There had been the enemy bodies, of course, and one or two downed stormtroopers, white plate piled unnaturally like marionettes with their strings cut, and that one trooper - 

That one trooper, blood streaked across his helmet, standing stock still. Not firing. And Ren, Ren was there, seeing - oh, stars. Hux resumed pulling on his boots, picking up his left where he’d fumbled it. His subconscious was so tiresome. Clearly he, Hux, was the cowardly trooper - the way sometimes you could see yourself in dreams, the way that others did, like a holofilm - dropped into a real battle for once and bottling it, and of course Ren was there to judge him, to say I told you so. His father might as well have arrived with a deckchair and some popped corn. 

It was terribly embarrassing, to have some emotional hangover drive you to fuck someone so earnestly before breakfast. Particularly when you needed to maintain certain boundaries, to prevent any effect on your professional relationship. 

Hux made a quick cup of caf, the good stuff from his own stock, unable to countenance a day fuelled only by the pot in the mess. It must have been later than he thought, or Ren was rather more gung-ho for this San Tekka chap than he’d thought, because the shuttles were already passing by the viewport, the troop carrier and the Upsilon. The sooner Ren checked in, the better he’d feel about this whole business. 

The shuttles grew smaller and smaller and Hux noticed his hands were shaking, the caf sloshing in the mug. 

_Don’t leave me._ Hux felt it, suddenly, the same urge that had driven him to cling to Ren in the early hours, to some animal comfort. It felt like when Ren came back, things would not be the same. Like something would ruin them. Or, like his desperation this morning already had. 

The Upsilon winked out of sight and Hux drank the caf down. It was still sipping temperature, and he winced at the burn on his tongue, the back of his throat. Ren was already gone. There was work to do.


End file.
